


Tying Loose Ends

by Tender Blade (Dagger_Stiletto)



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Assault, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Dismemberment, F/M, Protective Bog, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:49:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dagger_Stiletto/pseuds/Tender%20Blade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roland's family is not so happy with the fact that he is no longer in line to be King. They decide to take their frustrations out on Marianne. Bog King doesn't take kindly to those who assault his loved ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tying Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really happy with the way this turned out, especially the end, but it's my first Strange Magic fic. Hopefully I'll get better. I'm also not used to writing heterosexual relationships. Hopefully I'll get better at that as well.  
> I used a website to help me with some of the Scottish vernacular. I'm not so good at forming them, so if anything seems confusing, let me know. I used www.whoohoo.co.uk.  
> Not-betaed. Please let me know about any serious spelling or grammar mistakes.  
> I hope you enjoy this piece of trash! And if you happen to like it, leave kudos and/or comments!

_Before Roland ruined everything, Marianne had_ been a carefree, clumsy version of herself, so happy and blind to everything going on around her, to a fault certainly. After, her focus was sharpened, rage and pain making her hyperaware and mostly paranoid over every little thing.

Now, with the love of the Bog King warming her self-induced chilled heart, she was relaxed and less paranoid. He treated her far more gently than anyone had, respected her boundaries, and although her own people had thought her strange and whispered about her when they thought she couldn’t hear, he took the time to learn about her every quirk and honor her for her differences. He cherished her for what she was.

She wasn’t afraid of messing up around him. She wasn’t afraid of letting him. She could show weakness and anger and sadness around him without scaring him away, or feel like she was being judged. He was socially awkward, so he often didn’t know how to handle a situation, but he was honest and earnest and asked what he could do rather than abandon her.

Bog was surprisingly sentimental. He had Dawn repair the boutonnière she’d made while she was under the potion’s thrall. He asked Sunny to purchase and deliver a small glass box from the Elf Village’s glassworkers, and he placed the repaired accessory inside for safekeeping. He was prickly and grumpy a lot of the time, but his blue eyes held a wealth of emotion. He took the safety of his loved ones seriously; as soon as everything had settled, he had set about finding a new and safer place to build his palace.

Surprisingly, though he did not like to see his daughters kissing their beaus, King Alistair was more than happy to accept the Bog King as a future son-in-law. Despite the reluctance of the elders in the Fairy Council, he immediately began working on building new agreements and a stronger alliance with the King of the Dark Forest.

He and Bog even combined their efforts and begin to build a walkway/bridge all throughout the forest so that the Fairfolk could walk through it without fear of being horribly injured. The Sugar Plum Fairy, when asked nicely by Marianne and Dawn, was more than happy to spin some magic to ensure that as long as someone was on the bridge, no harm could come to them ever.

Roland disappeared after the incident, supposedly with the insect he’d been Dusted into loving. Marianne personally hoped he never showed his pretty-boy face again.

Now Marianne was venturing from her Kingdom to the Dark Forest. She’d decided to walk this time, rather than fly. The Dark Fair Bridge had yet to be finished, as the Dark Forest was an enormous territory, and it had thus far made it a quarter of the way. She collected a flat leave and a few white petals from the wildflowers nearby, and she began to weave them into the beginning of a boutonnière. She had been delirious, head in the clouds, before, and so the first she had made for Roland had been truly hideous, resulting in the sprites replacing it. This time, she was calm, content with her place in life as it was at the moment. The results of her craft were more acceptable.

The mushrooms whispered to her in greeting, and if she got off course, they whispered new directions to her. Most of the creatures here knew here, and according to a few, Bog had marked her with Goblin pheromones—not on purpose, it just happened when a Goblin embraced the object of his or her affections. There were different pheromones, one for family and one for lovers. It helped other Goblins identify each other. As such, the danger o f being attacked here was less likely than ever; what self-aware creature would actively assault the Fairy Princess bearing the Bog King’s love-scent?

Hazel-gold eyes lit up with delight when she came upon the bed of deep violet flowers that Bog had brought her to so many weeks ago. She trailed her fingers over the blooms, and they leaned into her touch, soaking up her light and love, the inherent Fairy ability to nurture nature’s flora, even though she wouldn’t come into her full powers until after her coronation as Crown Heir when she turned 21. She fluttered gently over them, searching for the best of them. Finally, she settled on a large blossom, cupping it in her hands before tenderly separating it from its stem.

Carefully, she attached it to the rest of the boutonnière. She hummed to herself, admiring her handiwork, continuing on her journey to her lover’s abode, the stump of an impossibly large, hard tree that the Goblins and wood workers had carved and hollowed out. The density and sheer hardness of the wood proved to ensure safety and protection. The other stronghold had been decaying and had not taken much to collapse when Roland’s flunkies had slammed things around. The experts that were still finalizing the palace assure the Bog King and Fairy Princess that it would take centuries for this old stump to reach that level of decay.

Only minutes away from the entrance of the home she and Bog shared, Marianne paused as she heard a noise that was out of place. She frowned, glancing around her. One hand cradled the new boutonnière, the other grasping the sword at her hip. She felt the burn of unsolicited eyes chilling into her, and her wings fluttered, skin prickling with unease.

The mushrooms watched her cautiously, silent as they sensed her unease.

She didn’t see anything out of place. She glanced all around her, scanning up and down. She felt those eyes, but she couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from her. Scowling, she turned to continue on, but the noise made itself known, a…clink? It just didn’t _belong_.

The urge to flee struck her, and she didn’t resist her instincts. She shot off faster than she remembered ever flying, intent on escaping whatever stalked her. Her senses screamed at her, heart pounding with terror when she sensed the entity following her. She swore she felt something swoop at her, and she ducked, diving to the ground prematurely to avoid the strike. She sprinted across the familiar terrain, blood pumping, adrenaline aiding her. She cried out as something raked through her hair, sharp, digging furrows into her scalp as it tried to grasp her hair. Wrenching away with a scream, Marianne put on a new burst of speed, and slammed into the heavy doors of the palace.

Brutus opened the heavy doors, and she slipped inside before he actually saw her. Whirling around, she shoved with all her might until the doors closed firmly again.

Then she slumped to the floor.

“Princess!” Brutus rumbled in surprise, eyes large as he stared down at her.

Blood dripped into her eyes, and the pain finally hit her. Dropping the boutonnière in her lap, Marianne clutched her head with whimper of pain, feeling the sticky wetness flowing freely through strands of brown tresses onto her fingers.

Brutus made distressed questioning noises, and then he gave up and scooped her up to run through the palace to the throne room in his jolting gait. She could hear Bog berating Thang for bungling up something or other—which was so common that she didn’t bother listening half the time—and upon the thuds of Brutus’ heavy entry, he paused in his tirade to acknowledge who had interrupted.

“Marianne!”

~*~

He was there in an instant, delicately removing her from Brutus’ hold. His heart pounded in fear from the sight of his most loved one covered in her own blood, small in the arms of one of his minions. He carried her to his ornate throne, carved for more comfort than the last had afforded. He settled the violet-winged Fairy on the seat and removed her hands to get a look at her head. He hissed, dragonfly-like wings buzzing in his fury. The damage to her scalp wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was bloody and obviously painful, and rage slashed through him at the thought of anyone hurting his Marianne, who’d never actively gone out to harm anyone. The concept alone was horrifying.

“Who did this to you? What happened?” he demanded, voice just this side of a growl. He had a tenuous control on his rage, holding it back for her benefit. She looked stunned, out of it as she stared at her own bloodstained fingertips. He wanted to charge out of there and wreak havoc, track the bastards down and rip their heads off after torturing them slowly, painfully.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, and he thought she must be in shock, so faint was her voice, eyes somewhat glassy. Her hands trembled as she reached up to grasp his forearms, trying to ground herself. “I felt someone watching me, heard a noise that just didn’t seem right, and I followed my instincts and ran. It tried to grab me by the head right before I got to the doors. I didn’t see anything.”

“Thang, send for a Healer,” Bog snapped, vibrating with angry energy. “Stuff, send Lout to the Fairy King with word that Princess Marianne was attacked but is safe with me right now. Brutus, go see if anyone saw the attack. Ask the mushrooms if there has been any suspicious activity. Go now!”

Scrambling feet and shouts of ascent follow, and then they were left alone. Bog hesitated only a moment before he wrapped his long arms around her. Hugging her tight, he nuzzled his nose against her ear, then crowded around her until he sat beneath her on the throne, cuddling her protectively.

Slowly, Marianne calmed and relaxed, seeming to melt against him. She winced at the pain in her head, and he rubbed between her wings to try to soothe her. She leaned out of his embrace as far as he would allow her and placed a boutonnière he hadn’t known she was carrying on the left chest plate of his armor. “I made this for you,” she murmured, eyes glancing up at him, her expression a little shy.

Bog looked down at the purple-and-white masterpiece against the brown-gray of his exoskeleton. His eyes softened, emotion curling within his chest, and his touch gentled further around her. A lump formed in his throat. He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her bloody forehead, ignoring the coppery taste on his lips. “It’s perfect, darling, thank ye.” He pretended not to notice his accent thickening with his emotions.

Marianne smiled, relieved, and cuddled her head against the opposite breastplate. “I’m glad you like it.” He could sense her heart fluttering through the touch he had on her neck. He couldn’t understand how important this was for her, but he accepted it and cherished the gift.

The only Healer Thang could find that wouldn’t take half a day to get there was his mother Griselda, who knew minimal Healing magic. Luckily, the injuries Marianne had sustained were superficial. She fussed over her precious future daughter-in-law more than anything else, both before and after the bloody lacerations across her scalp were healed. She’d had Stuff run for a bucket of clean water and a cloth. Then Griselda scrubbed the wet cloth over Marianne’s newly healed skin and through her short brown hair to get most of the dried blood off of the princess.

Lout returned with Dawn, King Alistair, and seven of their guards in tow. There was more fussing over Marianne, and the tired girl whined and fended them off after a few minutes, returning to Bog’s lap like a petulant child, although it was obvious she was exhausted. Thang brought her a sweet treat from the kitchens to help perk her up from the blood loss, and Dawn tried to fret over the bloodstains on her sister’s clothing, blonde head shaking over the ruined fabric.

“I have Brutus gathering reports from the mushrooms and any other witnesses that may have seen the attack,” the Bog King reported, softly running his fingers through Marianne’s hair now that there was no risk of aggravating wounds.

“Marianne, you didn’t see anything?” Alistair asked, his wings twitching and shifting in agitation.

Marianne shook her head, sighing. “I just heard a noise. I don’t know what it was. I just knew it didn’t belong, and my instincts told me to get to safety, so I did. I didn’t see anything.” She put her hand to her head, and he could see the tension around her eyes. “Can I go lay down? I’m really tired all of a sudden.”

“Yes, of course!” Bog stood. “I’ll be right back,” he said to her family, carrying her swiftly to the upstairs bedroom he’d set up for them.

The bed was of comfortable moss with fur blankets made from the rabbits and squirrels the Goblins hunted for their primary sources of meat. He tenderly settled her in the bed, then turned to fetch a change of clothes that she’d left for when she stayed over, so she could change out of the bloodstained outfit she currently had. She pulled him into a soft kiss and a muzzle of their noses before allowing him to leave. Bog called for several Goblins to guard the door and the balcony, instincts demanding that she be protected at all costs.

When he returned to the throne room, Brutus had returned with gathered reports. It was shocking, to say the least. A female fairy with blonde hair and the wings of a Monarch butterfly had apparently been stalking Marianne for a few days now. She’d been dressed in black armor, and she’d had gloves tipped with metal to form talons, which had been the weapon against Marianne.

“A Monarch butterfly, you say?” Alistair asked, surprise as well as dread coloring his face.

“Daddy, do you know who that is?” Dawn inquired, blue eyes turning to him. “Who is it?”

“The only ones I know with those markings and colors, at least without our two territories, is Roland’s mother and aunt. I met them only a few times, to work out some details of Marianne’s betrothal to him. They were very polite and courteous, but I had the distinct feeling that they were close off emotionally.”

Bog scowled, feeling his skin burn under his exoskeleton. It was almost like he needed to molt and shed, itchy and tight, as if physically swelling with his anger. His claws clench around his staff. “I will not stand for this violence against my loved ones,” he snarled. He whipped around, roaring for more of his subjects.

He and King Alistair formed a search party. Dawn volunteered to stay behind and keep Marianne comfortable if she had want of anything, and Griselda went with her to make sure “her girls” would be okay. King Alistair sent one of his guards back to Fairy City to hunt down Roland’s family residence and to hold anyone there for questioning. They scoured the forest for clues, using the mushrooms as guidelines. He called for Bloodhound, his best tracker, hunting down the scent of any Fairy not recognized amongst them.

The search went on for hours, but it was a big forest, and they couldn’t cover all of the territory before sundown. The Goblins left scent-markers so they would be able to pick up exactly where they left off. The guard returned from Fairy City to report that Roland’s residence had been vacated for what looked to be at least a week, if not longer.

Bog extended his hospitality to Alistair and the guards. They would most likely want to stay close to ensure that Marianne’s safety, even if Bog’s Goblins were more suited for battle and protection than the Fairfolk. Unsurprisingly, Alistair accepted the proposal. Bog sent Stuff ahead to make sure a few of the guest rooms Marianne had insisted on having made were prepared.

“I should have had troops go out and search as soon as I saw Marianne covered in blood,” he growled to himself, resisting the urge to knock down mushrooms with his staff or kick rocks at innocent creatures. His wrath hadn’t been expressed, and it simmered underneath the surface, bubbling and waiting for the slightest provocation.

“Well, at least we know who we’re looking for,” Alistair muttered in reply, affectionately patting his dragonfly steed. He was losing weight—because his daughters insisted due to his declining health—but his wings still couldn’t support his weight. “And we know their names.”

“Nae, ye neglected t’ share tha’ information,” Bog replied, his accent getting thicker the longer they went and the more irritated he became.

“Oh did I? Apologies. The mother’s name is Rolanda, and the aunt’s name is Yolanda.”

“How original.” He rolled his eyes and shoved his way through the front entrance doors. Griselda was helping a somewhat woozy Marianne down the staircase, holding her hands while Dawn fluttered about worriedly, the guards he’d appointed tiptoeing around them as if afraid to accidentally trample the wee Fairies. Bog frowned and approached them. “What’s th’ matter?”

“Oh the honey drop was feeling a bit hungry, so we decided to escort her downstairs,” Griselda replied. “She’s weak from the blood loss and the stress and couldn’t navigate the stairs safely.”

“She didn’t want to stay in the room and have us bring her food though,” Dawn added, pouting with an admonishing frown.

“I am right here,” Marianne said grumpily, glaring weakly at them. She turned to Bog, surprising him in lunging so she could just cling to him. She pouted at the others, arms wrapped around his waist almost possessively.

“Now really, dear, Boggy is the most protective of you out of all of us,” Griselda said gruffly, fluttering her hand at the dark-haired Fairy. “If he’d had his druthers, you’d be up in bed with someone bringing you food as well.”

Marianne huffed in reply and leaned more heavily into Bog. The King curled his arms around her and patted her head, then scooped her up so her feet no longer touched the floor. She laughed a little. “Proves you wrong,” she said to Griselda as Bog began heading towards the kitchens. “He’d just carry me everywhere.”

Griselda grumbled and followed after her son, as did the rest of them.

“Are ye feeling better, lass?” Bog inquired, nuzzling his long nose against her hair as he held her close.

“A bit,” she replied, leaning into the touch. “Did you have a good hunt?”

“Nae, th’ bitches that attacked ye were nowhere t’ be found. We’ll pick up th’ hunt in th’ morn, unless the night crew finds them ‘fore then,” he replied, his burr thick with his irritation. Stuff would be sure to let the nocturnal Goblins what had happened, and they’d be sure to do their own hunting while the moon was high. Of course, they wouldn’t be able to slack off their normal duties.

“I wonder if Sugar Plum would be able to do tracking spells or something,” she mumbled against his shoulder, barely intelligible, giving away just how tiring the trip down the staircase had been for her.

“We’ll have t’ send a scout out t’ find ‘er,” Bog murmured. “It’s worth a shot in any case.” Anything to make sure an attack like this never happened to precious Marianne again.

~*~~*~*~*~~*~

 _The next morning, Bog awoke to_ the sound of soft humming and the feel of delicate fingers skating over the top of his head. He smiled and turned his head to open his eyes and see Marianne’s first thing. Her own smile sent his heart aflutter. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“Good morning, love,” she murmured against his skin.

“It m’st certainly is,” he slurred back, voice thick with sleep and grogginess. “Guid morn, lass. Fit loch feelin’ noo? Nae at aw loch yesterday, Ah hope.”

“I don’t know if I should be proud that I’ve spent so much time with you that I understood all of that without any trouble,” she teased, kissing his nose this time. “Yes, I’m feeling much better. I didn’t even need help to the lady’s room.”

He wrinkled his nose and sat up. He popped his neck with a loud crack and soft grunt of relief. He felt old sometimes. He reached for his future bride and cuddled her into the circle left by his criss-crossed legs. “Ah suppose ye’ll want t’ join in on th’ hunt fer yer attackers, aye?”

“It crossed my mind,” she admitted. She tilted her head back to look up at him, kissed his chin. “I don’t like being attacked in the middle of a forest that I usually feel safe in. I’d like to get my own licks in.”

“Aye, but do ye’ have t’ join in on th’ hunt t’ do it? We can j’st drag th’ harlots back t’ ye ance we fin’ ‘em. Ah’ll e’en serve ‘em on a silver platter if it pleases ye.”

She blinked up at him for a moment, and he knew it was taking her a moment to translate all that to English she could understand. Bog resisted rolling his eyes, waiting. “Well, I think you’re just trying to spoil me now,” she said with a grin. “If you really don’t want me to join you on a hunt, I’ll stay in the palace. Someone has to keep Thang out of trouble. Stuff can take care of herself, but Thang smashed his own foot with a mallet trying to get rid of a termite. Little bastards are already trying to tear down our home, and we haven’t even finished building it yet.”

“There aren’t supposed to be any termites in th’s part of th’ forest,” Bog grumbled in concern. “Ah’ll have t’ have ‘em exterminated. They serve nae purpose in our ecosystem. They’re j’st a goddamn scunner.”

“Well I could oversee that while you’re out defending my honor,” Marianne decided.

“Ah’ll lae it in yer capable han’s ‘en, mah love.”

Marianne laughed and stood, reaching down as if to pull him to his feet as well even though she was much smaller than he. “Let’s get you something to eat, Bog. Otherwise I’ll need your mother to translate.”

He went along with her without complaint, grabbing his staff from beside the door along the way. Honestly, he was too tired to protest after the night he’d had. He and King Alistair had spent most of the night making plans and strategizing just how to capture the Monarch sisters. They couldn’t agree on a lot of points, especially what kind of punishment they deserve after they actually are captured; Alistair wanted to have them imprisoned while Bog would rather a more corporal punishment—he still had floggers, switches, and he could cane them with his staff, and he was sure that if he finds a magic wielder, he can get them to make the dungeons cold to freeze the Fairies out. There were endless possibilities, really.

He may have changed a lot since meeting Marianne, but there were some things that would never change, especially how he handled dealing with criminals in his lands, no matter what their species. They’d be lucky if he didn’t just kill them outright.

In any case, he was still tired, and he knew that eating would kick-start his brain, maybe even help him remember how to speak like an intelligent person again.

Bog watched Marianne carefully as she walked down the staircase. She glanced back at him, rolling her eyes when she realized he was being quietly overprotective again. They made it to the kitchen without incident and ate bread and fruits for their breakfast, enjoying the quiet of the morning where most of the castle’s inhabitants were still asleep, the outside world just starting its day. It was comfortable and secure. He could very easily get used to this. He hoped he had the opportunity to do so.

Of course, the quiet of the morning didn’t last, as it rarely does, although this time for a very different reason than usual. There was a loud thud and crash, making Marianne lift up into the air in fright, wings fluttering. Bog frowned and charged from the kitchen to the entryway, staff clutched in his hand. He sensed Marianne hot on his heels, but she had enough sense to stay behind him where he could easily protect her if necessary.

Brutus had a Fairy in black armor with flaming red hair and Monarch butterfly wings clasped in his large hands, holding her up high so that she couldn’t successfully kick him with the way she was flailing her legs. Grog, Brutus’ surprisingly larger brother had a slightly older, blonde Fairy with identical wings, although she lacked armor. She seemed to have accepted her capture with steely coldness, her eyes condemning them all to hell. Burning fury lit in both of the women’s gazes when they landed on Marianne, however.

Bog firmly placed himself in front of Marianne, blocking her from their view. He swung his staff harshly, and chains coiled around their captives instantly. He snarled as he stepped forward, watching as their faces tensed, and he could sense their fear starting to creep in and overwhelm their other emotions.

“Ye wenches are a wee bit new to assassination attempts, aren’t ye?” he snarled down at them where Brutus and Grog had laid them on the ground at their liege’s feet. His wings snapped in agitation. “A bit stupid to attack the Bog King’s betrothed in his front yard, don’t ye think? And you didn’t even get a fraction of the way. All ye did was scratch her wee head. Ye’re a damn disgrace.” He crouched down with a hiss as he scowled at them. “Now, which one of you harlots came up with this ninny-brained plan?”

They pressed their lips into thin lines. Bog narrowed his eyes, cracking his neck, this time in a threatening manner that made both women flinch despite their apparent resolve to not show their emotions or be affected by the almighty Bog King. His patience never had been very abundant. He stepped closer and pressed the top edge of his staff against the column of the redhead’s throat.

“My patience is wearing thin,” he snarled. “If you value your life, I would suggest spilling the beans.”

Still the women didn’t respond. He grinned sadistically. He’d secretly hoped they’d be difficult, and since they’d been caught within the forest, he had say in what punishment they received. “Take them to the dungeons,” he commanded standing straight. “We’ll see how long it takes for them to admit their crimes.”

Marianne bit her lips but didn’t say anything in response. The Goblins grab up the bound Fairies, who had some panic creeping into their eyes. The chamber door shut behind them with a loud bang of finality. Marianne stepped up beside Bog after a moment and gazed up at him curiously.

“What do you plan on doing to them?” she asked. She didn’t seem too concerned for their wellbeing, merely curious about what her future husband had in store for prisoners such as they. She leaned against his side, softly stroking his hip, as though to calm him from his rage. “Do you still do canings?”

He glanced down at her incredulously.

“What? We’ve heard rumors. How am I supposed to know if they’re true if I don’t ask?” Her eyes sparkle mischievously.

“Nae, nae, my dear, we only use feathers to tickle our prisoners into submission.”

Her eyes widen comically. “Oh no Bog, that’s surely too cruel to bear!”

He chuckled and scooped her close, lightly kissing her lips and allowing himself to calm. He could at least feel some relief now that his lover’s attackers had been captured, thanks to the nocturnal Goblins. With Rolanda and Yolanda in his dungeons, Marianne would be safe to go out wherever she wanted without risk of being attacked by her own people.

“What do you think the chances are that they attacked me out of the misconception that I ruined Roland’s life or some such nonsense?” Marianne mused as she moved to the entrance to close the doors and straighten up a table that had been knocked down.

“You are most likely correct,” Bog agreed after a moment’s contemplation. He twitched his head at the sound of indignant screeching from the dungeon. By the tone, they weren’t being tortured or in pain, they were just outraged to have been placed in a prison. Obviously, they believed they were in the right.

“What’s going on?” King Alistair demanded as he came down the stairs, a sleepy Dawn rubbing her eyes as she followed him reluctantly. “Who’s making that awful noise?”

“Good morning, Daddy,” Marianne greeted, kissing his cheek as he came to the bottom step. She hugged her sister as well, surprisingly affectionate this morning. Perhaps it was the aftereffects of yesterday’s attack. “Bog’s night team caught Rolanda and Yolanda.”

“What? Where are they?”

“In the dungeon, of course. Where else would we put prisoners? They wouldn’t answer our questions, so they’re in a time out.”

Dawn giggled at the last and ran her hands through Marianne’s hair to straighten it a little bit. “What do you plan on doing with them?”

“Well, I was thinking of dishing out my own punishment, and then you lot could do whatever you wanted with them,” Bog said carelessly. Really, these amateur criminals were a joke to the “industry” and a waste of precious time. Perhaps he should he just cane them like Marianne suggested, or maybe some flogging. If they were Goblins, he’d just make Dawn go down and sing as long and loud as she could. There was only so much singing a Goblin could take.

“Maybe we should weigh their wings down,” Dawn said thoughtfully, scratching her chin as if for effect.

“Or clip them.”

Everyone paused and turned to look at Marianne, who was picking at her fingernails now. She glanced up and blinked at them. Bog couldn’t quite believe she’d said it. She was talking about grounding two of her own people. Grounding a Fairy was like taking their way of life. In fact, if Bog remembered his studies correctly, the Fairy whose wings were clipped would experience a shortened lifespan. Was she serious? Had she grown in touch with a more vicious part of herself? It was hard to picture, even if Marianne was significantly tougher than any female Fairy he’d come in contact with. Or was she just throwing out ideas?

The more he thought about it, though, the more he liked the idea. His wings buzzed briefly as the rightness of the concept rippled through, an almost physical pleasure derived from such a fiendish plan. Meanwhile, the King and other daughter had horrified expressions contorting their features, which only cemented his desire to dole out that specific punishment. It would also give any other winged fae a warning of exactly what the almighty Bog King was willing to do when it came to Princess Marianne.

“Tha’ is a perfect idea, mah dear,” Bog replied, and Marianne’s hesitant smile was everything. “Why don’t you wait up here, maybe rustle up some breakfast for your family, while I take care of the unpleasantness?”

“Now wait just a minute, Bog, let’s not be rash here,” King Alistair said, clearly disturbed, which Bog understood on some level.

The idea of having one of his own wings ripped out would chill him to the bone as well, but the fact remained that the women in the dungeons had chosen their fate when they attacked Marianne. At the very least, they should have expected imprisonment. Not only had they attacked their own princess, which was an offense at a literal royal level, but they’d done so within the infamously feared Bog King’s territory. They may be touched in the head if they actually thought they’d get off lightly.

“There is nothing to discuss here, Alistair,” Bog replied, voice deep and ringing with finality. “These women attacked Marianne on my lands, and they were captured on my lands. If they’d truly wanted to avoid persecution, they should have vacated our lands. But they were stupid enough to hang around, to hide within a forest swarming with Goblins, so now they’ll get what they deserve.” With that, he planted a kiss on Marianne’s head, right over where one of the lacerations had been.

~*~

The dungeons were as of yet unfinished, like a lot of the castle. In the distance, he can here the carpenters he’d put to work on the place chiseling and grumbling. Bog moved soundlessly through the room that was more of a cellar right now, except that there were three cells built at the end of the chamber. The women were hissing and whispering to each other through the bars, as the Goblins had been smart enough to keep them in separate cells.

“She deserved what she got…”

“Skanky little tosspot…ruined Roland’s life…could be sitting in High Court right now…”

His brow twitched angrily, rage swirling in his core. They did this because Roland didn’t become king? When it was the little fool’s own fault? He was no fool to believe that if Roland had only remained faithful to Marianne, or covered his tracks better, that they would have married, and he would have his army he wanted oh-so-badly. Bog’s wings snapped loudly in anger, crackling, and his measured, deliberate footsteps rang loudly in the stillness, and the whispering fell silent abruptly.

“Ladies,” he said in a dead voice that spoke of the horror that would befall them. “I’ve decided that I don’t really need to hear your reasons for attacking your own princess. No reason could ever justify what you have done to someone of royal blood. I’m sure it has something to do with the sad excuse of a son one of you gave birth to. We haven’t heard anything from or about the bampot, and I truly could care less if I ever did again.”

“Now see here, you disgusting excuse of a—” the blonde female began to snarl, lifting to her feet, her wings tied down along with her arms, face twisted into a snarl that Bog was swift to cut off.

“Regardless, you must be punished for your crimes.” He bent at the waist, inhaling deep, catching the hint of blood wafting from the blonde fairy, pinpointing who had been behind the physical attack. He reached through the bars and snatched her golden hair, long and silky and obviously a thing of pride for her. He twisted it in his grasp, and she hissed in pain at the tug on her scalp. “Your punishment has already been decided.”

A Goblin swiftly open the cell door, and he dragged her out, not allowing her to gain her feet as he scraped her along the ground away from her sister, who was now understandably panicked, breaking her cold and uncaring façade in the face of the danger to her sibling. Rolanda cursed and fought against him ineffectually. It fell on deaf ears.

He strapped her down to the table in the room that he’d entered. Bog didn’t bother closing the door, figuring that part of the other Fairy’s—Yolanda—punishment could be listening to her sister in the throes of agony. At his command, Brutus, who had lumbered down the stairs to assist his king in whatever he wished, lit a fire, pushed on by what little magic the Goblin possessed. Once the fire was blazing hot, a blade was placed within the flames.

Meanwhile, Bog worked on separating each wing from their bindings, stretching them far apart. He stripped her of her arm and opened the back of the tunic underneath, exposing her back. He used thin pine needles in a form of acupuncture, numbing her muscles without numbing nerve endings, immobilizing her wings so they had no choice but to remain in the positions he placed them in while she lay helpless. She screeched in terror, attempting to get her leg loose and kick at him.

The Goblin King stepped back to admire his work. It had been a long time since he had actually participated in something like this. His emotions shut down, rational thought pushed to the background, nothing but clinical coldness in its wake. He walked to the fire and lifted the blade, admiring the red hot glow and its perfect sharpness.

“You brought this upon yourself,” he reminded her before he slice into flesh.

Rolanda’s screams pierced the air and echoed throughout the dungeon. He cut through her flesh at the base of her lower right wing, and the burning heat cauterized the wound so she wouldn’t bleed out all over the floor. Her body tensed, and she tried to arch and hunch away, begging for mercy when he was halfway through separating the wing, rending it from muscle and tendons and ligaments. The smell of burning fae was sickening, but the Bog King pushed it away, compartmentalizing it as his ruthlessness leaked through.

He was meticulous, and she may not think so, but he was as careful as he could be under the circumstances. He didn’t damage any of her other three wings, and the only flesh he burned was the flesh that was being sliced through. He made sure the contact of the blade to her person was minimal. He tossed the knife away when he was finished, the wing clutched in his claws. He coldly stared down at her without feeling, a sense of calm overcoming him.

The deed was done. Justice had been taken against the one who had committed a thoughtless crime against his most precious one. It was clear that Rolanda had had murder on her mind, as she had been ready to defend her actions to the Bog King, who no longer had need of the why of the act. He called for another subject and told him to dispose of the wing, then ordered Brutus to take care of Rolanda and make sure she didn’t expire from the shock. The Fairy lay sobbing on the table, violated and in agony, the echoes of her screams seeming to continue to reverberate around them.

“You will apologize to Princess Marianne,” Bog said to her, his voice flat and unyielding. “And then your King will take you and your sister back to the Fairy Kingdom. What he does to you there will be entirely up to him.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. He paused in the hallway for a tick, then turned to walk back to where Yolanda lay in her cell.

She had tears on her face, and she appeared haunted by the sounds of her sister’s agony. She flinched away from him, all pride and the charade of importance and justification in the act against Marianne melted away, replaced by fear and apprehension and sorrow for her sibling. He turned his hand so she could see the dust of her sister’s wing covering his palm, and she cringed, the moan of a wounded animal tearing from her throat.

“Be honest, lass, what part of this harebrained scheme did you have?” Bog demanded, giving the woman the benefit of a doubt.

“I…I did the tracking,” she replied, eyes wild like the eyes of a terrified animal. “I watched her movements and reported back to my sister. I told her where to be and went to attack. Please, is my sister going to live?”

“Of course. I would have killed her outright if she wasn’t going to live,” he replied, which he knew didn’t make the Fairy feel any better. His eyes narrowed on her contemplatively, weighing his options on her punishment. A Goblin hovered beside him, ready to act at any given command.

“Break her wing,” he commanded. “Make sure that it will heal crooked so her flying capabilities are diminished. Her sister will never fly again.”

He pivoted and walked away, ignoring the anguished wails of both sisters as he returned to the upstairs, leaving that persona he had donned in the dungeons where it belonged. He may not be that person all that time anymore, but when he was, he wanted to be sure that his Marianne never bore witness if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Marianne was his light, and that part of him would stay in the dark where it belonged. He intended on leaving buried until he needed again, so he can focus on being happy and making his Princess and future wife happy.

All loose ends were tied, and he intended on keeping them that way.


End file.
